


Once Bitten and Twice Shy

by beethechange



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment RPF
Genre: Implied Blood Stuff, M/M, The Author Apologizes to Wham!, Vampires are for Christmas Now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27942386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beethechange/pseuds/beethechange
Summary: “What do you mean, you’re avampire?”Ryan doesn’t mean to yell, but Shane is standing there so casually, leaning against his kitchen counter and stirring the cinnamon stick around in his mug of—His mug of—Of—
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 56
Kudos: 342
Collections: Skeptic Believer Book Club Advent Calendar





	Once Bitten and Twice Shy

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a short little bit of silliness for day seven of the fic advent calendar. If we are being very honest I just wanted to write a vampire thing from this line from "Last Christmas."

“What do you mean, you’re a _vampire_?”

Ryan doesn’t mean to yell, but Shane is standing there so _casually_ , leaning against his kitchen counter and stirring the cinnamon stick around in his mug of—

His mug of—

_Of_ —

Ryan leans over to cough, half-retching when he thinks again about the hot dark red liquid Shane’s sipping.

Ryan turns on the kitchen sink and sticks his mouth under it, desperate to wash away the aftertaste of panic. Then he sticks the rest of his face under it for good measure, in case this is a particularly vivid nightmare.

Shane raises his eyebrows. “If you’re done making a scene.”

“Oh, I’m the one— _I’m_ the one making a scene? You’re standing in your kitchen on Christmas Eve, drinking blood out of a festive holiday mug!”

“Why does it matter that it’s Christmas Eve?”

Ryan can’t say why that bothers him so much, but it does. It’s inappropriate; unseasonal. Heretical, probably, and not at all what the baby Jesus had in mind.

Of course Ryan never thought that vampires were real—not really. If he _had_ thought it, he’d have imagined them skulking around a moonlit street on Halloween night, or else flying through the window of an attractive blonde ingenue.

He would _not_ have imagined them wearing a big Christmas sweater and a politely baffled expression, drinking blood out of a novelty mug with the words “There’s Some Ho Ho Hos in This House” and a winking Santa Claus emblazoned across the side.

“It’s just wrong,” Ryan says. “It’s aesthetically very confusing, for one thing. Vampires shouldn’t be _cozy_.”

Ryan wipes water from his chin with the hem of his shirt. Shane watches with interest, his eyes alighting appreciatively on the bare inches of skin above the waistband of Ryan’s pants.

That’s when Ryan realizes _he’s_ the attractive blonde ingenue.

“Vampires don’t just crawl out of our crypts at Halloween, Ryan,” Shane says. He takes another sip from his mug. “We’re twenty-four seven, three sixty-five, baby. This is mulled wine, by the way, so you can stop being such a baby. I don’t drink blood in front of humans—" and he smirks, which Ryan resentfully finds attractive even now, even knowing what he knows— “unless they ask me to.”

Ryan takes a step, feeling the counter at his back. He could leave; he’s sure Shane would let him. He should leave. Why isn’t he leaving?

“Why are you telling me this now?”

Shane shrugs. “I have a policy. I don’t—informed consent is important. We’ve been dancing around this thing for a while now, and I’m in if you are, but you should have all the information. If you like your men a little less undead, I’ll just have to live with that. Or, well, not _live with_ , but—you know.”

He gestures vaguely with the hand holding his mug. A little of the dark red liquid sloshes out—wine, Ryan reminds himself, it’s _just wine_ —and Shane ducks to lap it off his hand. This draws Ryan’s attention to Shane’s mouth, which raises more questions.

“Why haven’t I ever seen your, uh. Your fangs.”

Shane grins at him, a crooked little grin. Crookeder than usual? Ryan squints at him, but he must be imagining things, because then he blinks and it’s just a normal smile.

“They’re retractable, like a cat’s claws. I don’t whip the ol’ chompers out in polite company. Tends to make people nervous.”

This should be a dealbreaker, probably.

The thing is, Shane’s already busted right on through any number of Ryan’s dealbreakers like the Kool-Aid Man. Ryan doesn’t date smug hipsters with bad taste in music. Ryan doesn’t date men, historically. Ryan doesn’t date coworkers _ever_.

Certainly Ryan does not leave one very stable job to start a company and then date the cofounder of that company.

So, like, after all that…dating a vampire isn’t great, but is it the worst? Maybe not. Ryan’s willing to consider it. 

“Can I see them?”

Shane puts his mug down on the counter, eyeing Ryan warily. “You sure about that?”

Ryan swallows. It’s like his mouth has started overproducing saliva in sympathy. He runs his tongue over the smooth surface of his own teeth, imagining what sharp canines would feel like.

“Yeah.”

Shane takes a step forward. All the hair stands up on Ryan’s arms. His hand flies up to his neck, spanning the width of it protectively, propelled there by some instinct he did not intend.

Ryan realizes then that he’s getting hard—something else he did not intend. He’s always known he liked to be afraid, but he didn’t know he _liked it_ liked it. He hadn’t realized that the thrill of actual mortal peril would feel like _this_.

Shane smiles like he can smell it, all that blood pumping through Ryan’s veins on the way to points south. He’s close enough now that Ryan can see the two unnaturally pointy canines, the way Shane’s lip protrudes to accommodate them.

Shane stops in front of him. With his back to the counter and Shane so close, there’s nowhere Ryan could go now, even if he wanted to.

He doesn’t want to.

Shane raises his hand very slowly, still not certain Ryan won’t startle. He fits his thumb between Ryan’s own spread fingers, stroking a line up the side of his neck. Ryan tilts his head back, making room, an accidental invitation.

Carefully Shane drags his hand down, leaving his neck bare and unprotected.

“Merry fucking Christmas to me,” he says with a little laugh. He bends to press opened-mouthed kisses along Ryan’s jaw. Then he fits his nose into the notch at the base of Ryan’s neck, right where all Ryan’s breath is caught, and inhales.

He grazes his teeth carefully up the long line of Ryan’s neck, _so_ carefully, not breaking the skin.

Ryan closes his eyes, and trusts.

*


End file.
